


Obligation or Necessity

by onceuponamoon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:38:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1928628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/pseuds/onceuponamoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or: five times steve told bucky not to take care of him (and the one time he asked him to)</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Steve had always been a little firecracker and though it was futile, Bucky had always tried to be the extinguisher, putting out fires left and right.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Obligation or Necessity

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Chels](http://chelsri.tumblr.com) for the beta.
> 
> I have too many feelings about these two.

**1927**

 

Steve had always been a little firecracker and though it was futile, Bucky had always tried to be the extinguisher, putting out fires left and right.

Ever since they were real little, exchanging stories on their front stoops while the grown folk talked, Bucky saw him as larger than life, the fire of passion for life and for what’s right blazing through his soul. 

He never picked any of the fights, of course, because Steve wasn’t a bully. Didn’t have a mean bone in his body, if you asked Bucky, but he had all the spirit of a prize fighter and none of the muscle to back it up. So anytime some big fella started picking on some kid and Steve caught wind of it, he’d rush on over to help before Bucky could so much as blink and end up with his fists up, his face bloodied, swaying but resilient as all get-out. Bucky would curse under his breath – “Not again,” – and drag Steve off before someone made a big stink about the kids fighting in the streets.

Bucky’d make sure that Steve’s shaky knees wouldn’t give out, sling an arm around his shoulders if they threatened to. He’d dab ointment on Steve’s lip and buy him a cold soda to press against the bruised swell of his cheek.

Lip split, Steve would look up at him and say, “You don’t have to take care of me, Bucky.”

Bucky would just smile down at his best pal and say, “I know that.”

 

*

 

**1931**

 

Bucky knew what he was really like, big as hell on the inside, and it was almost like Steve’s body broke down all the time from trying to keep him contained to such a small frame. 

And so of course Bucky didn’t mind sitting next to his bed when Steve wasn’t supposed to leave it. (He never actually told Steve about how his mom would ask Bucky’s mom to have him check up on him before she rushed off to work, but Steve never asked. But Bucky would look at Steve and it was like Steve would know anyhow.) Bucky’d listen to him cough and hack and hear his breath go wheezy, know that the way he clutched at his chest wasn’t any good.

Bucky would cut short whatever story he’d been telling and climb up next to him, pulling Steve against his chest and tell him to match their breaths, keeping his own slow and easy over the terrified pounding of his own heart. It’d take some time but Steve would calm enough to breathe without coughing but sometimes he’d black out from the wheezing, and each and every time that rattle started Bucky’d squeeze his own eyes shut and pray for the former. Steve would still be too weak to push Bucky out of his bed, though, and Bucky wouldn’t have budged an inch even if God himself came down and told him to.

Steve’s voice would be weak, raspy, but still he’d say, “You don’t have to take care of me.”

“I know,” Bucky’d return, careful not to squeeze too tightly.

 

*

 

**1936**

 

Steve had never been very original with his hiding spots. When they were kids, hide and seek got boring quick because Steve was never any good at blending in. His feet would stick out from under the curtains, he’d be unable to smother his giggles from inside the pantry, and he’d sneeze if he tried under the beds. It never stopped them from playing and it never stopped them from having fun with it.

For as long as Bucky could remember, Steve’s place for peace and quiet was the fire escape. It made Bucky nervous as hell to see him swingin’ his feet like he hadn’t a care in the world, but heights had never bothered Steve.

“Knock-knock,” Bucky had said, hoping with all he had that Steve wouldn’t start and take a plummet.

Steve had looked up at him, eyes rimmed red and a look on his face that tore Bucky’s heart in two. His voice cracked when he said, “Heya, Buck,” and swiped at his eyes. His head hung back down over the scrap of paper and Bucky didn’t need to look at it to know that it was a portrait of Steve’s ma. 

Bucky didn’t ask if Steve was alright, ‘cause it was pretty damn clear he wasn’t – Sarah’s death hit everyone hard, but it’s different when it’s the woman who raised you and loved you and held you when you had no other blood. But he did sit down next to his best pal, even though the view was givin’ him the shakes, nudged him with his shoulder and said, “Hey,” back.

Steve was strong, though, and he kept on sketching until the light waned and after that he’d just leaned against Bucky’s side.

“My folks were being serious, you know,” Bucky had said, letting his arm go lax so it was more comfortable for all of Steve’s sharp points and angles. “I know we ain’t got much room, but at least you wouldn’t be here all alone.”

“Kinda _want_ to be alone, Buck,” Steve had returned, arm lifting in a tiny shrug.

And the melancholy was heavy, thick in the air between them because Bucky knew Steve was a stubborn sonuvabitch when he wanted to be and that this was the kind of grief he wanted to shoulder alone. But his shoulders were thin and Bucky’s were sturdy enough. He could bear the weight.

“Hey,” he’d said, like it was a bright outta nowhere idea rather than one he’d been thinking about for a whole week now, “Why don’t we just get a flop for ourselves? I could work a few doubles at the docks and I, uh…” Nerves wrecked him for a minute there, but Bucky soldiered on, “I’ve been tellin’ Marty down at the papers that you were an artist. Said he wanted to take a look at your stuff. So that way if we get a place I can cover rent and you got groceries.”

The way Steve had looked up at him after that made Bucky wonder if he’d hung the moon and was the last to find out about it.

“That might not be so bad.”

Bucky’d knocked his head against Steve’s like he’d always done when they were boys, smelling the ivory soap and pomade. “You’d be doin’ me a favor, Steve,” Bucky had said, eyes bright in the fading day, “Dunno how much more of the hollerin’ I can take.”

After that they’d sat in silence, thinking things over, enjoying each other’s company up until the point that Steve said, “You know I appreciate it...but you really don’t have to take care of me, Buck.”

“I know, kid,” Bucky had answered, heart pounding with the prospect of hope.

 

*

 

**1938**

 

“Think we can afford a new icebox yet?”

Sweat beaded up at Bucky’s temples and sluiced down his cheeks into the hollow under his jaw. He swiped at it the best he could, but he almost didn’t see the point seeing as how it wouldn’t stop coming. Steve, the delicate little bird, sat at the table with a pink face, brow furrowed in concentration as he counted out the money they’d managed to scrounge up for savings between them.

He finished up, breath puffing out his cheeks before he finally met Bucky’s eyes. “Not if we want to make rent next month,” Steve had answered. He shoved a thin hand through his hair and Bucky watched the way it fell right back where it was, against his sweat-damp forehead.

Bucky swallowed.

It wasn’t fair that Steve was the type that glistened whereas Bucky sweated, thick and manly as hell, feeling like a little boy caught sneaking bluesies into Mass. But then again, what with Steve’s size and various ailments, Bucky figured maybe the kid needed a break somewhere.

“Shit, Steve,” Bucky had said, “I’d kill a man for a cold soda.” He leaned back, scrubbed a hand up over his face to get his hair off his sweaty forehead. “Hey, maybe I can just pick up a couple extra shifts down at the docks. No sense in us bein’ miserable if we can do something about it.”

The look Steve fixed him with made Bucky feel transparent, so he looked away and gave a shrug. 

“You don’t have to take care of me, Buck.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know that.”

 

*

 

**1941**

Edith Jessup and Susie Miller were the broads’ names and Bucky had been selling Steve hard and fast to both of them in hopes that maybe one of them might give the guy a chance. Because really, kid had a heart bigger than the whole world and Bucky just wanted someone else to see it. Sure, he might’ve been a little on the scrawny side, but given his health and what the world constantly threw at him, Bucky thought Steve was definitely makin’ the best outta what he got – angel blonde hair, bright blue eyes and a killer smile, not to mention the freckles across the bridge of his nose and the way his hands were thin, but big and strong.

Neither one of the dames gave Steve the time of day and Bucky was absolutely steamed about it. By the end of the night, nobody was happy. 

Steve, hands tucked into his pockets and his chin practically tucked to his chest, walked strides in front of Bucky like his legs had finally grown the final few inches to make him as big as he was inside. Bucky’s heart had pounded as he caught up, slicking a hand through his hair as he offered a placating grin.

“They weren’t worth nothin’ anyway,” Bucky had said. “Next time, I’ll find us some dames that know how to have a real good time.”

But Steve just sighed, still stepping with purpose up toward their place even as he fished the key out of his pocket. The lock was fussy, though, and Bucky had to insinuate a hand between Steve and the door to push it just right while Steve tried it again. Steve slumped against the door a little bit.

“Hey, you feelin’ okay?”

“‘M fine, Buck,” Steve had answered, and Bucky watched the back of his neck mottle up with pink. “And those dames were fine. Good coupla gals.” He finally jiggled the handle, made his way inside and shrugged out of his jacket. Bucky’s breath caught for just a second at how slender Steve looked in the shadows of their apartment. “Just didn’t like me.”

“Well, then I ain’t got no need to associate with ‘em, do I?” Bucky offered Steve the kind of smile that he knew would get him a smile in return. 

It was an annoyed one, but Bucky would always take whatever he could get. Especially with Steve.

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve had said, “I’m serious, you don’t have to take care of me.”

“ _Jesus, Steve_ ,” Bucky’d mimicked, reaching over to tug him into a hug, “I know that.”

 

*

 

**1942**

 

It was almost like all of those other times led up to this one. 

Bucky remembered them each with clarity, wondering briefly how in the hell he thought it’d be okay to abandon his – to abandon _Steve_ , who so clearly never wanted Bucky to take care of him, but needed it more than anything. And it was like everything Bucky’d been hearing over the past few weeks – Pearl Harbor and the shady shit goin’ on over in Germany…none of that mattered anymore. Not with the way Steve was looking at him.

He’d been so gung ho about throwin’ lead overseas that he’d sold Bucky in a heartbeat. If Steve said there was honor in it, then it was Bucky’s duty to carry it out.

Only...now it just doesn’t seem so worth it.

“I’ve tried to enlist twice already, Bucky,” he said, “ _Twice_. And no dice. It ain’t –”

Bucky hadn’t known. He had no idea that Steve would go and do something like that without him. He wanted to be hurt when he heard that...but he’d gone and done the same thing so he had no right.

It was just...Bucky hadn’t even wanted it. Not at first. 

“ _Steve_ ,” he said, unmoving. He wanted to approach, wanted to tell Steve that he could...that he could just go back to the recruitment center and say that there had been a misunderstanding, that Bucky actually had – hell, asthma or pneumonia or whatever the hell it was keepin’ Steve from getting 1A status. He wanted to. But he couldn’t. Bucky was afraid that if he so much as thought about trying it then Steve would knock his lights out, hundred pounds soaking wet or not. 

“ _No_. You don’t –” Steve shook his head, paced the creaky floorboards for all of three seconds before he wheeled around to face Bucky again, fire in his eyes. “I never asked you to take care of me, Bucky. Not _once_. But god knows I need – you can’t just – how’m I s’posed to...You have to stay, Buck.” Looking lost, Steve’s voice broke when he asked, “Who else is going to take care of me, huh?”

There was no sound in the seconds that followed, but Bucky’s heart had shattered.

The next few days Bucky hardly saw Steve. (Bucky knew shame – especially Steve’s dumb guilt for weaknesses he couldn’t control – when he saw it.) He went down to the docks to let his supervisor know that he wouldn’t be around anymore, then to the neighbors to see if they’d keep an eye on Steve and find someone to board up while he was gone.

Steve stumbled in drunk, well before dinnertime, bottle of gin clutched in his left hand. “I tried enlisting again,” he said, swaying on his feet. “Went all the way to New Haven. They wouldn’t take me there either.” His face had crumpled, just for a split second, then it schooled into determination. “I’m just gonna have to try Paramus tomorrow. Maybe they’ll take me…”

At that point, Bucky stopped staring and said, “Hey,” quietly as he could, taking the gin from Steve’s hand to set it on the kitchen counter. He offered a small smile, one that he knew Steve wouldn’t return. “Maybe they will, ya never know.” He didn’t mean it, not a bit, but he thought maybe it’d make Steve feel better, so he said it anyway.

Snorting, Steve swayed again and this time Bucky helped him off to bed. He came back with a glass of water, a spare tub, and an extra blanket, Steve already passed out and ten types of angelic-looking even with gin suffusing the room thickly like those god-awful candles Bucky’s ma used to light all the time. He draped the blanket over Steve’s feet and eased the door shut behind himself.

A couple hours later and Steve shuffled in, squinting against the single bare bulb glinting overhead in the kitchen.

Bucky didn’t say anything, just put the newspaper down and went to get Steve’s plate out of the oven. He slid it across the table and watched Steve pick up the fork, stab into the potatoes, and shovel a bite right in. He watched the flex of thin muscle beneath thin skin over thin bone. He watched Steve’s pink-as-sin lips close over the fork’s tines. He watched the bob of Steve’s throat as he swallowed. He watched Steve avoid his eyes and focus on the task of eating.

It was kind of startling to realize that he was trying to memorize Steve, sear him into his memory for when shit got tough ahead. He wasn’t an artist like Steve. He wouldn’t be able to doodle his face when nights ahead doubtlessly got lonely, but he’d do his damnedest to know the lines and slopes of his gaunt face.

“Got somethin’ on my face?” Steve asked, cheek stuffed like a squirrel’s.

Instead of continuing his staring, Bucky huffed a laugh, cleared his throat, and went back to his paper. Only...then he felt Steve’s eyes on him, like he was doing the same. And Bucky – he couldn’t take that.

The chair scraped loudly against the linoleum. “Think I’m gonna wash up and turn in for the night,” Bucky said. He knew his voice was high, tight. “You’d better eat all of that. Don’t want you getting sick.”

He felt Steve’s eyes on him as he made his retreat, but Steve was kind enough not to say anything.

But it was too early yet for bed and Bucky lay awake. Instead of sleeping, he waited. He waited for Steve to finish eating, for Steve to wash his plate and fork, for Steve to sigh and shuffle off to his room. He wished he hadn’t left Steve’s gin on the counter. He wished he had it to keep him warm tonight.

Later, like he had been reading Bucky’s mind, Bucky felt the dip of the mattress, the sharp angles of Steve’s elbows and knees and hips as he spooned up against him. He felt Steve’s breath, warm compared to the cold of the room, and then felt the stillness, the hesitance before Steve’s arm fell around Bucky’s middle. His nose was freezing where it pressed into the back of Bucky’s neck.

Chest tightening, Bucky’s breath hitched as he thought, “Who’s gonna let Steve do this the rest of the winter? How’s he s’posed to make it without me here to make sure he eats and stays warm and takes his medicine and don’t work too hard?”

They lay in silence for a minute, ‘til Bucky felt Steve start up with the shivering and he had to flip over and gather Steve up in his arms. He didn’t care that they were face-to-face. He tugged until Steve’s cold nose was tucked against his chest. Then they were still, quiet, wrapped up together in a desperate, heady way.

Steve broke the silence first, his voice a broken vibration against Bucky’s chest when he said, “I should be proud of you, Buck.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky said in return. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Steve’s hair, his forehead. His heart ached. 

Steve shifted, his face too close in the darkness for Bucky to see more than just the shine in his eyes beneath the orangey glare of the streetlight outside. Then he felt the cool press of Steve’s lips against his own, a hitched desperate noise from who knew where, the clutch of his fingers in Bucky’s shirt. And it was – Bucky never expected it, hadn’t even allowed himself to hope, but it felt all kinds of right. Bucky knew he was the one to make a noise at that point, knew that he had too tight of a grip on Steve’s hip so he contented himself by sliding it up into Steve’s hair instead, moving to get a better angle for licking into his mouth.

And it was different than it was with the dames. For one, there was the scrape of stubble and for another, Steve wasn’t passive by any right. Even though Bucky could tell there wasn’t any experience backing it up, Steve was a quick learner and it took no time at all before he was the one guiding Bucky through it.

Bucky pulled back, breathing heavy. 

He felt Steve nuzzle up against his cheek, panting but still clutching at him like if he let go then he’d disappear. He felt the insistent tilt and grind of Steve’s hips, the hardness of his prick tenting his sleep pants. 

At that moment Bucky felt half-crazy, desperate with the need to keep Steve right here like this, safe and in his arms. He never really knew it was what he wanted, but now he felt like it was something he _needed_ – had to have it or he’d certainly die.

Bucky shifted, rolling until Steve was secure on the mattress beneath him, still bracketed by Bucky’s limbs and torso. He kept the pressure light, not wanting to spark some kind of fit what with Steve’s lungs already being taxed enough, but firm enough for Steve to know he was there. Bucky ran his fingers through Steve’s hair, petted over his face, looked him dead in the eye.

“You gotta promise me, Steve. You gotta promise me that you won’t go.” Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve’s mouth, ignoring the shake of his own breath. “I don’t – I couldn’t stand the thought of havin’ no one to come back home to. You gotta understand that. Don’t go; don’t even try.” 

Steve only said, “ _Bucky..._ ”

“Please, Stevie, I don’t – what if they take you?” Bucky shifted, dropping more of his weight down onto Steve’s lower body to grind against him. “There’s things you can do here, just – be here.”

Fingers warmed up, Steve slid his hand up underneath Bucky’s shirt and pressed against his lower back, urging the movement. Bucky tucked his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, hoping he wasn’t crushing Steve’s chest. 

Steve had never been in the habit of making promises he couldn’t keep and Bucky didn’t think he’d start now. “I’m here, now, Buck,” he offered, hissing when Bucky’s hips caught his just right. He gripped the back of Bucky’s neck, tugged him down for another round of kisses. Then he pulled back, said, “You wanna...?”

And Bucky had no clue – he didn’t know it could, he…

Steve’s eyes were alight with the same desperation Bucky felt, like there was some clock they couldn’t see but were racing against as Steve pressed the jar of Vaseline into Bucky’s hand. Bucky had always kept it under his mattress and he wondered how Steve knew – but hell, it was saving them time now, so why should he care? Beneath the covers, they shimmied out of their underclothes just enough to free up the space needed to grasp at each other, skin finally warmed by friction in their little cocoon of blankets. 

But Bucky didn’t know exactly what to do – not that it wouldn’t be too hard to figure it out, of course, because he’d been with plenty of dames before and he’d heard all kinds of things from the fellas at the docks. But… this was Steve. The last thing Bucky ever wanted to do was hurt the guy. He had enough hurt coming in the new few weeks while Bucky would be away for boot camp. 

So instead, Bucky went back to kissing Steve, grinding his cock against Steve’s until he was whimpering, “Please, Bucky, please.”

Only apparently Bucky wasn’t moving fast enough, because Steve shoved at him ‘til he rolled to the side. Steve flipped over, got up onto his thin knees and scooped out some slick, reached back and started petting over his pretty little hole before dipping one inside. He groaned and Bucky watched, enraptured and a little worried, but Steve seemed to like it, so Bucky leaned in to press kisses against Steve’s shoulder and run his hands down the knobs of his spine. But Christ alive, those _hands_. Steve’s hands were always on the large side, delicate where Bucky’s were boxy, smooth where Bucky’s were calloused. But they were so strong and so precise and Bucky could only imagine what they’d feel like pettin’ over his own skin and slicking _him_ up inside.

In no time at all, Steve was reaching out, tugging Bucky in for a quick kiss that ended with a bite at his lower lip – something that made Bucky choke on a keen, hot all over. “C’mon,” Steve panted, “I’m here – now I want ya to...need you to take care of me. Right here.” 

Bucky’s heart gave a stutter. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, looking over his shoulder to quirk a smile, “C’mon already.”

Bucky leaned up over him, pressing his face to the center of Steve’s back just to breathe him in, wrapping his hands around Steve’s thin sides to skitter his fingers up the bumps of his ribs. Bucky kissed the skin beneath his lips and then reached down, grabbing his cock to guide it inside. It was slow-going, as he didn’t want to hurt Steve, but the Vaseline helped a whole helluva lot and it was – so _tight_. Tighter than anything Bucky ever felt before.

And Steve was trembling, hitching his hips back before Bucky was even snug against him. Bucky couldn’t help but groan, pressing Steve down into the mattress as he rocked his own hips in a stuttering rhythm. 

“ _Oh_ , Steve,” Bucky breathed against his skin, “Didn’t know we could – have this too. Didn’t know you ever thought about it.” He paid close attention to the hitch of Steve’s breath, listening intently for any sign of the bad kind of gasping or wheezing.

Steve said, “All the damn time,” and canted his hips back, his head hanging between his shoulders, chin tucked against his chest. Bucky pulled back and thrusted in, careful of his grip on Steve’s bony hips. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

All Bucky could do, really, was hold on. 

He slumped down against Steve’s back, petting over his chest, down the jut of his hips, over the velvet heat of Steve’s cock. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to keep from pounding in, but it was incredible – _overwhelming_ to know that this was one last way he could take care of Steve. He panted against Steve, kissed at his back and shoulders when he could, but allowed himself the pleasure of mostly just holding Steve close and knowing he was safe. He rutted his way deeper inside, again and again, listening to Steve’s breathy noises, watching the flex of his back as he fisted at the sheets. 

Bucky heard a, “Please, please,” and some other whispered, secret words between Steve and the sheets. He knew that it wasn’t in regards to their actions, but he couldn’t treat it as anything but. So he swiveled his hips, thrusting in deeper, slower, harder.

It built up, sooner than Bucky realized, and before he knew it he was groaning against Steve’s back and spilling inside of him. Steve’s back arched and Bucky grinded in, nearly hyperventilating as he emptied himself out, clutching tight at Steve’s hip with one hand and stroking at him frantically with the other as he finished. 

Distantly, he heard Steve give a familiar grunt and whine – something finally confirmed after years and years of sharing close quarters – and felt the searing heat of Steve’s come over his hand.

Bucky barely had the mental capacity to roll them onto their sides, still breathing hard with his nose tucked against the top notch of Steve’s spine, slowly going soft inside him. 

Later, after they’ve shared a hot shower that was only easy because of Steve’s small frame, Bucky stopped by Steve’s room to snatch all of his blankets and then tucked them both up in his own bed, nice and warm in a world of their own making. They lay close together, bundled back into their underclothes, facing each other in the dull light of the room. 

Steve’s hand stroked up over Bucky’s cheek, into his damp hair. 

What they did was a pretty big deal. Steve wasn’t treating it like that, though, so Bucky couldn’t find it in himself to care. Besides, what happened between him and Steve was nobody’s business but theirs. They’d been quiet, slow, careful enough that Bucky wouldn’t have a problem lookin’ their neighbors in the eye. 

“‘M sorry about what I said,” Steve eventually slurred.

Bucky heard all of the unspoken things with that, and couldn’t help but press a kiss to Steve’s forehead again. “You don’t have to be,” he replied, “I get it.”

“But…” Steve trailed off but Bucky knew what was coming next. He didn’t particularly like it and he prayed to the Almighty that it wouldn’t work, but Steve was a stubborn little sonuvabitch and Bucky knew he’d find a way somehow. “If you’re going...if you won’t stay here an’ take care of me, then I gotta keep tryin’, Buck. You ain’t leavin’ me here all alone.”

Sighing, resigned to it, Bucky caressed the back of Steve’s neck with his thumb. 

“You never had to take care of me, Buck,” Steve said, nuzzling in until his sleep-slurred words were muffled, “But I was always glad when ya did.”

Bucky smiled, soft and kinda sad. “I know that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry about Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers with me on [tumblr](http://onceuponamoon.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
